“Mr. Brooklyn was suspected—wrongly—of murder.”
“Oh, yes, I remember now. And you know Mr. Brooklyn? How interesting.”
Moorman lowered his voice. “He was in the office with that stick on the very day on which the murders were committed.”
“Dear, dear. It is coming back to me. There was something about the stick in the papers. How odd it should be like mine.”
“It was found in the room where one of the murders took place.”
“And you saw Mr. Brooklyn with the stick when he left this office the same day. Dear me, that must have looked very bad for him. But he was released, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, the police let him go.”
“And did you give evidence, Mr. Moorman? Did you have to say you had seen him leave this office with that stick in his hands? It must be a terrible ordeal to be a witness—terrible.”
“I didn’t have to give evidence, and in any case I didn’t see the stick when Mr. Brooklyn left the office.”
“Oh, I see. He hadn’t the stick with him when he left. Then, of course, it wouldn’t go so much against him, it being found. Why, it might have been my stick”—and Mr. Porter gave a curious high laugh. “Well, Mr.—is it Moorman?—thank you. You’ve told me just what I wanted to know—about my mortgage. I will write in, sending all the documents. Good-morning.”
Safely out of earshot and eyeshot of Woodman’s office, Superintendent Wilson had a quiet laugh. “A little diplomacy does it,” he said to himself. “Now I know all about the stick. And next for another little exploration.”
The superintendent’s next visit was paid in his proper person. Driving to Liskeard House, he asked to be shown up to Prinsep’s room, where everything was still just as it had been when the murder was discovered. There he made a careful examination of the room and all its contents, seeking for any weapon with which the murder could possibly have been done. His search was fruitless; and, after a while, he passed to the window and gazed out thoughtfully into the garden below. The roof of the antique temple showed over the intervening trees; but the place where the murder of George Brooklyn had taken place was completely hidden by the trees and the bushes growing around them. The superintendent cast back in his mind to discover whether the bushes had been searched for possible clues. He assumed that they had—it was an elementary precaution—but he had best have a hunt round himself. Something might have been overlooked. He went down the private staircase into the garden, and began his search.
Nothing rewarded his efforts, though he spent a good hour searching; and it was with a puzzled expression that he went upstairs again to Prinsep’s room, resuming his stand at the window and gazing out. Suddenly something seemed to catch his attention. Leaning as far out of the window as he could, he studied intently what he could see of the roof. “It’s just a possibility,” he muttered, as he closed the window, and crossed the room.
What Superintendent Wilson had remarked was that almost on the level of Prinsep’s window was the roof of that part of the house which projected over the stable-yard. It was not near enough for any entry to the room to be effected by its means; but it was easily within reach of a throw, and an object cast away upon it would be completely invisible and safely disposed of until some day, probably distant, when the roof might need repair. It was an admirable place for the bestowal of any inconvenient piece of property.
By means of the landing window, the superintendent found his way without much difficulty out on to the roof, and was easily able to climb over its gabled side to the flat space in the centre. And there at last his efforts were rewarded; for on the roof lay, clearly just where it had been thrown, a small bag heavily loaded, not with sand, but with small shot—a deadly weapon. Stuffing the thing into his pocket, the superintendent climbed back with more difficulty, and shut the window behind him. He chuckled softly to himself. He had reasoned aright, and here at last was a clue that had not been laid to mislead—a real clue that he must make to point straight at the murderer. He went back to his office to examine his find at leisure.
XXXIV
The Stable-Yard
While Superintendent Wilson, by his own methods, was thus working towards the solution of the mystery, Joan and Ellery were also pursuing their investigations along their separate line. There was but one thing needed, they felt, to complete their case, and turn their conviction from moral into legal certainty.
How had Woodman got into Liskeard House? That was the question which Joan had set herself to answer. The coach-yard seemed to be the only possible means of access. It was a large square yard opening into Liskeard Street by a pair of massive wooden doors ten feet high, and a small gate let into the wall at the side. Neither the wall nor the doors could be climbed without the aid of a long ladder.
One entering by these doors would find himself in the yard. On his left he would have the side wall of Liskeard House, which had no window looking out on to the yard. On his right would be the large coach-house, now used as a garage, above which lived the chauffeur and his wife, formerly a domestic of Sir Vernon’s—both servants of long standing. Their apartment had also a door opening into Liskeard Street, and a way down into the garage.
Immediately opposite anyone entering the yard from the street was an extension, built out from the side of Liskeard House towards the back. The ground floor of this was occupied by storerooms, accessible only from the yard; but between these a passage led through directly
